


Never Again

by ever_ever_never



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 02:52:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19844062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ever_ever_never/pseuds/ever_ever_never
Summary: Aziraphale knows Crowley will eventually leave his side--the demon bores easily, and has never handled stasis well--but he’s quite happy to put that moment off for as long as possible. It isn’t until the Eleventh Day Of The Rest Of Their Lives that Aziraphale realizes with bemusement that, aside from his little jaunt into Hell on Crowley’s behalf, he hasn’t been out of the demon’s line of sight for more than a few minutes since Tadfield.Or: After Armageddn't, Crowley, who for a whole afternoon thought he'd lost his angel forever, intends to never let Aziraphale out of his sight ever again. He fails to actually communicate this, and when he wakes up in the bookshop to find the angel gone, he panics. When Aziraphale comes back, he winds up with a lapful of clingy demon and it's all downhill from there.





	Never Again

**Author's Note:**

> Look, Crowley is probably a bit out of character here, but I had this idea about him feeling clingy because he thought Aziraphale was perma-dead, and it wouldn't leave me alone, so here we are. Please enjoy this trip into the Good Omens hellscape that my brain has become.

Aziraphale doesn’t notice it right away. After all, it makes very good sense for them to stick closer together than usual, considering all that’s happened. 

When they sit on the bench in Tadfield and Crowley invites him to stay at his place, it seems an obvious solution to the problem of the burned-down bookshop. On the bus back to London, when they sit side by side, arms brushing, he thinks they both could use the comfort of the other’s presence. 

After they swap bodies back, free (for now) from the scrutiny of Heaven and Hell, it only seems appropriate to dine together at the Ritz, to while away the afternoon with good food and better company, now that they can do so without concern. 

He knows Crowley will eventually leave his side--the demon bores easily, and has never handled stasis well--but he’s quite happy to put that moment off for as long as possible.

It isn’t until the Eleventh Day Of The Rest Of Their Lives that Aziraphale realizes with bemusement that, aside from his little jaunt into Hell on Crowley’s behalf, he hasn’t been out of the demon’s line of sight for more than a few minutes since Tadfield. 

_ Odd _ , he thinks,  _ but I suppose we’re both going through something just now. I’ve certainly felt better having him around... and if I bring it up, he’ll probably leave. _ So he shrugs it off, going back to his book as Crowley pokes at his phone on the other end of the couch, the tips of his toes tucked under the side of Aziraphale’s thigh.

* * *

On the Seventeenth Day Of The Rest Of Their Lives, Aziraphale sneaks out for snacks while Crowley naps. He’s in the mood for something sweet, and there’s a little bakery just down the street from the bookshop that he’s awfully fond of. He thinks perhaps he could even goad Crowley into eating one of the divine little cupcakes with the fluffy frosting and the adorable sprinkles that look like little pearls. He buys a dozen, exchanges pleasantries with the shop girl, and performs a few minor miracles on his walk home. Now that he’s no longer being supervised by anyone, he’s rediscovering the joy of doing miracles simply because he likes to be nice, to help. It used to be that way, long ago, before Heaven became so bureaucratic. He likes this way much better, doing miracles for no reason except kindness.

When he arrives back at his shop, he quietly opens the door, intending to wake Crowley and tell him about the little girl whose dropped ice cream he’d miracled back into her hands. When he enters the front room, though, he’s shocked to find the demon already awake and in a state of outright panic. He’s collapsed on his knees in the middle of the room, hands tangled into his short red hair and tugging at the strands in a way that must be painful. He’s breathing in quick, ragged gasps, eyes gazing wildly around without seeming to absorb anything he’s seeing. His jet black wings flicker in and out of existence like static on a television set. Aziraphale stands stunned in the doorway for a few heartbeats before he registers a small, desperate, broken noise that’s coming from the demon’s mouth between breaths. It sounds vaguely like his name.

This, more than anything, snaps him back into action. He sets the cupcake box down on a nearby stack of books and takes a cautious step toward Crowley, trying not to startle the demon. Speaking in his gentlest voice, he says, “Crowley, my dear, calm down. You’re alright, take a deep breath, everything is fine. You’re safe--”

Abruptly, Crowley’s eyes snap up to Aziraphale’s face, and the look in them nearly shatters the angel’s heart. He can’t begin to imagine why, but Crowley is obviously terrified. His pupils are tiny slits in golden eyes that are still too crazed to really seem present. Before Aziraphale can take another step forward, Crowley is scrambling toward him, managing to stand up for just long enough to get close to the angel before his knees give out and he slumps down to the floor at Aziraphale’s feet. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, reaching out to touch Aziraphale’s shoes, his calves, his knees, still whimpering brokenly between breaths. Up close, Aziraphale can see that he’s shaking.

Eventually, Crowley reaches up to grab both the angel’s hands and tugs him downward. Aziraphale allows himself to be dragged to the floor, and before he knows what’s happening, Crowley is all around him. Long limbs wrap around his body as the shuddering demon crawls into his lap and clings to him, pressing his face into Aziraphale’s chest and gasping wetly into the lapels of his waistcoat, repeating in a choked voice, over and over as if he’s trying to convince himself, “You’re here, you’re real, you’re here...” 

Bewildered, Aziraphale wraps his arms around Crowley in return, bringing one hand up to stroke the bright red hair as he gently rocks them both and murmurs comforting words against Crowley’s temple. “There, there, my darling, of course I’m here. You’ll be alright. Deep breaths, you can do it, just breathe with me, yes?” He takes a long breath in and listens to Crowley’s uneven attempt to copy him, humming in approval to show Crowley he’s done well. “That’s it, dear, just like that, perfect. Try it again, one more time...”

He keeps it up until Crowley’s breathing evens out and he stops trying to reassure himself that Aziraphale is here. The demon continues to tremble in Aziraphale’s arms, though, and shows no sign of moving out of his lap anytime soon. He miracles up a soft blanket and wraps it around Crowley’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and rubbing soothing circles against his back. They stay like that for a long time, until the light coming in the bookshop’s windows begins to turn the pinkish orange of sunset.

Just as Aziraphale begins to think Crowley is asleep, he hears the demon’s voice, raw and scratchy, from against his chest. “Where’d you go?” He’s confused for a moment until he remembers he’d been out.

“Oh. I just went to the bakery for some sweets. Does it matter?”

Crowley huffs out a dejected noise that seems to be intended as a laugh. “Shouldn’t matter. ‘m just being pathetic.”

“That’s not what I asked, is it?” Aziraphale reminds him firmly. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

There’s silence for a moment, and Crowley’s shoulders tense, but eventually he mumbles, “Woke up, you were gone. Thought... thought I’d lost you again. Thought maybe I’d dreamed getting you back. Couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t breathe.” A hand snakes up out of the blanket and presses against Aziraphale’s cheek, as if Crowley still needs proof that Aziraphale is real. “Felt like it was happening all over again... the fire...” He trails off with a wet sobbing noise.

Aziraphale holds him tighter, whispering soft reassurances until he’s ready to talk again. Eventually he heaves a huge shuddering sigh, and peels himself away from the angel’s chest to meet his eyes, leaving a damp spot behind on Aziraphale’s shirt. His words come out all in a rush. “I... look, angel, we were fighting, I said I’d go to Alpha Centauri and never think about you, and then, when I came back, y...you...”

He breaks off, breath hitching again as he lowers his eyes, and the realization hits Aziraphale like a high-speed train. He draws in a sharp breath. “I was gone, and the shop was on fire. You thought I’d died... permanently.”

Crowley nods wretchedly, still looking at the floor. “Never felt... so alone in my life, and the last thing I’d said to you was...was--” He breaks off again, and this time Aziraphale actually sees the tears spilling down his cheeks. “I’d never have gone without you, angel, couldn’t go without you, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t--”

“Oh darling, I know you didn’t. I knew right away you didn’t mean it. You can’t fool me that easily, not after we’ve known each other so long.” He reaches out and puts his hands on either side of Crowley’s face, tilting forward to press a kiss on his forehead. “I didn’t think for a moment you’d really leave me behind.”

“I’d never. Not ever. I wouldn’t want to live in a world without you in it, angel.”

“Oh, my dear,” whispers the angel sorrowfully, another piece of the puzzle falling into place. “Is this why you’ve seemed so--?”

“Needy,” Crowley finishes for him, his tone self-deprecating. “You can say it, angel, I already know. I’ve been obnoxiously needy ever since Tadfield.” He sounds miserable, but not exactly repentant. His arms squeeze a bit tighter around Aziraphale as if daring him to try and escape.

Aziraphale swats gently at his shoulder and chides, “I was going to say attached. And I don’t... well. I don’t mind your being a bit needy. It’s been... quite nice, actually, though I’d rather it didn’t end in this. I don’t like seeing you so upset.”

Almost shyly, Crowley raises his eyes back up to meet Aziraphale’s, and the angel belatedly notices just how close together their faces are. Crowley takes a deep breath and says pleadingly, “Then don’t ever leave me. I don’t ever want to be away from you. Never again.”

Aziraphale blinks a few times in surprise. Crowley isn’t usually so unguardedly affectionate, and the raw sincerity of this request warms Aziraphale’s heart so much that he can’t keep a small pleased smile from creeping onto his face. He’s struck, not for the first time, with the urge to lean down and kiss Crowley, to show him exactly how mutual the feeling is. It’s an urge Aziraphale has become intimately familiar with throughout the centuries, and one he’s never felt it was safe to act on, but now that they’re free of their respective head offices... now, perhaps it would be alright. Then again, maybe  _ now _ isn’t the right time, when Crowley is upset and not necessarily thinking clearly. He wouldn’t want to take advantage. Perhaps it would be best to wait and--

Without warning, Crowley leans forward, closing the gap between their faces to press their lips together. It’s chaste and a bit awkward, but it sends a thrill through Aziraphale. When Crowley leans back, he looks nervously at the angel and says, “I hope that was okay. You looked... like you were talking yourself out of it.”

“I...” Aziraphale looks down into Crowley’s eyes. He still looks a bit frightened, but it’s a different kind of fear now, and it’s mingled together in his expression with a passionate, desperate  _ hope _ . He strokes a thumb against Crowley’s cheekbone and whispers, “Yes, I suppose I was.”

Crowley takes in a breath, looking for all the world as if he means to talk Aziraphale back  _ into _ it, but the angel doesn’t need any more convincing. He silences Crowley with another kiss, delighting in the surprised gasp he steals from the demon’s lips. It’s not awkward this time, but it  _ is _ a bit of a messy affair, both of them learning the right angles, clacking their teeth together a few times before they find the exact right way to fit themselves together. Shortly thereafter, it also stops being chaste. 

Crowley lets out a broken moan that Aziraphale swallows greedily, impatient to hear more. He threads his fingers up into the bright red hair, tugging gently to move Crowley’s head the way he wants it, and  _ oh _ , the demon must like that, because his whole body shudders in Aziraphale’s grasp. His tongue snakes out to tease across the angel’s lips, and when Aziraphale opens his mouth to touch his own tongue tentatively against it, it’s electric, zinging through his veins and into the tips of his toes, his fingers, his ears. He wants  _ more _ , he wants  _ everything _ , wants to merge his entire being with Crowley’s, threading their atoms together until they can no longer be considered two separate things.

He doesn’t realize how much of this he’s saying aloud between kisses until he hears Crowley groaning, “Yes,  _ yes _ , angel, I want that, I...  _ please _ , Aziraphale, I need--”

“There’s... a bed... upstairs...,” says Aziraphale, twisting Crowley’s head again to trail kisses down his neck. This proves quite addictive, the salt taste of sweat and tears overwhelming, and Aziraphale can’t help pressing his tongue against the skin there, licking and biting and sucking in marks as Crowley makes the most incredibly gorgeous noises the angel has ever heard.

“No time... waited too long already...” Crowley pants, tilting his head to allow Aziraphale more access to his neck. “I want you now, angel... now, here,  _ please _ .”

“Yes... yes, alright, darling, how... how do you want--” he falters, his complete inexperience finally making an appearance in his head. “I don’t... I’ve never...”

“Me either, angel,” Crowley slurs, drunk on arousal and emotion. “Can’t be so hard, though-- _ fuck  _ that feels good.”

“Which... which kind of  _ effort _ would you prefer?”

“Whatever feels right, angel. I’m thrilled... either way.” He can feel Crowley’s preference pressed against his stomach, already hard. He’s more comfortable with the male equipment too, so he manifests the same thing, anxiously watching Crowley’s face for approval. Fortunately, he needn’t wait long. Crowley groans at the feel of his answering hardness and relief washes over Aziraphale.

“It’s alright... this way?” he asks.

“ _ Fuck _ yes... I’ve dreamt about you this way... oh,  _ angel _ !” 

Crowley continues to grind his maddeningly lithe hips forward as Aziraphale struggles to maintain any level of control over himself. Crowley has  _ dreamt  _ about this, about him, about the ways their bodies might fit together and how it will feel when they finally end this game of flirtation and denial they’ve been playing through the ages. The knowledge leaves Aziraphale reeling. He grips Crowley tighter and begins to move his own hips in time with the demon’s, groaning at the sensation, too much and not enough at the same time.

“Aziraphale, please,” Crowley whines, tilting forward to press another series of wet, searing kisses against the angel’s lips. He’s losing control, too, begging disconnectedly into Aziraphale’s mouth, “I need you... clothes off... miracle?”

Aziraphale wavers, conflicted. He wants to take his time, unwrap Crowley thread by thread, taste every inch of him, pull him apart until he forgets his own name. Equally, he wants more, now, here, and Crowley’s body is writhing urgently against his. The rest will have to wait. He nods in agreement and whispers, “Miracle”. He snaps his fingers and clutches Crowley tightly against him as their bare skin meets for the first time.

Crowley makes an indescribable sound, pressing forward until it feels like every inch of them is touching, and rocks his hips against the angel’s, desperate for friction. He gasps when their cocks brush together between their bodies, and whines plaintively, “Want--want you in me, Aziraphale... I need it... please...”

“Anything you want, my darling, anything... I believe we’ll have to... prepare, a little, though. I’ve read--”

“No, no, don’t need it, just take me, please,” Crowley babbles, halfway to incoherent already, but Aziraphale shakes his head.

“I won’t do that,” he scolds. “Be patient, my love. You’ll have me gently or not at all.”

“Gently, then, but  _ quickly _ , Aziraphale, I can’t stand it-- _ ahh _ !” Aziraphale’s fingers steal all the words from his mouth as they reach behind him to press carefully against his entrance, miraculously slick enough for the angel to press the first inside without much resistance. 

Crowley groans in encouragement as Aziraphale slowly drags the finger out and presses back in, repeating the action a few times before adding a second. By the time he’s ready for the third, Crowley is boneless against him, gasping weakly into his shoulder each time Aziraphale’s fingers move inside him. On one drag out, the angel curls them just a little and Crowley wails, his whole body shuddering. “Do it again, angel, do that again,” he pleads, “or better yet, give me your cock, I’m ready, please, I want you, need you, I’ll do anything you say, I’ll be so good for you...”

His begging threatens to drive Aziraphale over the edge, so he nods and says, “Yes, my dear, you’ve been so good, so perfect for me. You need me? You’ll have me, then, come on.” He helps Crowley rise up to his knees, uses his hand to spread the rest of the lube onto his cock as he positions the demon above him. When he feels his tip pressing against the tight ring of muscle, he puts light pressure on Crowley’s shoulders, helping the demon to sink down onto him. “Come on, darling, take it slow, that’s right, there you go, you’re-- _ ahh _ \--so tight, so good, yes, my love, take the whole thing, you can do it.”

Crowley throws his head back and lets out a wordless moan that’s almost a howl as he lowers himself down onto Aziraphale. Each movement feels luscious, decadent, overwhelmingly perfect. Aziraphale continues to spill out a near-mindless string of praise and encouragement until he’s fully seated inside Crowley, the demon panting hotly against his neck. 

He gives them both a moment to adjust before he starts to move, pulling gently out of Crowley only to slide himself back in, easy and careful and so slow it’s excruciating. Crowley whimpers against him for a moment, lost in sensation, before it’s not enough and he starts to help, lifting himself up when Aziraphale pulls back and dropping down again when the angel thrusts. 

It takes a moment, but they find a rhythm, and once they do, the world narrows down to the press of skin against skin, the breathless kisses, the heat of Crowley’s body surrounding him. He’s never heard music so lovely as the sound of Crowley falling apart around him, and he says as much, accompanied by a harder thrust that draws the most beautiful noise yet from Crowley’s lips.

Aziraphale feels the pressure building in his abdomen, slowly but surely, and knows, theoretically at least, what’s about to happen. Abruptly, he realizes that what he wants most in the world is to have Crowley look into his eyes as they both come. He gently places a hand against the demon’s cheek, drawing his face up, and he can barely hold back his release at what he sees. Crowley’s eyes are hazy with pleasure, his expression vulnerable in a way that Aziraphale has never seen before. He’s gorgeous, incredible, and Aziraphale loves him so much he feels his heart might burst. His hips begin to stutter in their motions as he loses control, and he’s startled to feel tears dripping down his cheeks. Crowley, even in the state he’s in, reaches up to brush them away.

“Angel--?” is all he can manage, sounding concerned, even as his eyes slide closed in ecstasy.

“Look at me,” Aziraphale begs, the tension in his body building to a crescendo. “I want to see you.”

Crowley obliges, golden eyes fluttering back open to finally focus on Aziraphale’s, and the angel knows he can’t hold on any longer. “I’m--I’m--Crowley...”

“Come on Aziraphale, come for me, I need it,” Crowley moans, and Aziraphale feels himself tilt wildly over the edge. He keeps his eyes on Crowley’s as he pours himself into the demon, practically sobbing at the absolute rapture he feels when he registers Crowley’s release against the skin of his stomach, his beloved’s body pulsing around him. For a few shining moments, there is only this, this euphoric glittering pleasure that crumbles every wall he’s built around his love for Crowley over the millennia. They are on their own side now, and their side is the  _ only _ place he’s ever truly wished to be.

The world comes back to him gradually, sticky and wet and irreversibly changed. Crowley is still panting and trembling in his arms, and he feels as if his body cannot possibly contain his love for this astonishingly wonderful creature. He clings to Crowley, holding him close as they sit there in satisfied silence on the floor of the bookshop.

Some time later--maybe a minute, maybe hours--Crowley regains his power of movement and looks up into Aziraphale’s eyes. There’s a bit of worry there, and Aziraphale brings his hands to Crowley’s cheeks, trying to soothe it away.

“Angel... you were crying,” says Crowley, eyes darting away nervously and then back. “Was... was it..?”

Aziraphale smiles softly at him and leans forward to gently press a kiss against his lips before answering. “My darling, it was... indescribable. I can’t... I can’t remember the last time anything felt so  _ right _ . And... and you?”

Crowley breathes out an adorably relieved sigh and tilts toward him, resting their foreheads together and nodding. “And me. You feel like...” he trails off, searching for the right word. When he finds it, he looks straight into Aziraphale’s eyes and whispers, “...home.”

* * *

On the Seventy-Second Day Of The Rest Of Their Lives, Aziraphale realizes with bemusement that he hasn’t been out of Crowley’s line of sight since that fateful trip to the sweet shop. He looks over to where the demon is dozing on the couch, the tips of his toes tucked under the side of Aziraphale’s thigh, and smiles softly to himself. In time, Crowley will stop feeling so anxious about letting his angel out of his sight, but for now, Aziraphale is perfectly happy to indulge his needy demonic lover.

Setting his book aside, he gets up, stretches, and kneels on the floor by Crowley’s head. “Crowley, darling,” he purrs, reaching down to gently trail his fingers up Crowley’s thigh, “I’m in the mood for something sweet. Can you think of anything that would satisfy me, dearest?”

The demon’s breathless moan is all the answer he needs.


End file.
